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A hushed silence fell over the small group, and all eyes turned toward a kind-faced woman seated at the front of the room. She looked to be in her fifties, with graying hair pulled back into a neat bun and a warm smile that seemed to invite trust. As she stood, Morgan noted the subtle authority in her posture—the way she commanded respect without demanding it.
"Hello, Agent Cross. My name is Belinda," the woman said, extending her hand. "I'm the one you're looking for. How can I help you?"
"Can we talk in private?" Morgan asked.
Belinda's eyes crinkled with concern, but she nodded and led Morgan back into the hallway, where they found a quiet corner to speak.
Morgan took a breath. "Thank you, Belinda. I'm afraid I have some bad news." She hesitated, gauging the reactions around the room. "Stacy Cox, one of your attendees, was found dead this morning."
Belinda's hand flew to her mouth, and her eyes filled with tears. "Oh my God... poor Stacy. She was just nineteen years old..."
Morgan nodded solemnly. "I'm sorry for your loss. I was hoping you could tell me more about Stacy, what she was like, and if anything seemed off about her recently."
"Of course," Belinda said, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "Stacy was a good girl. Troubled, yes, but she truly wanted to get better. She had been attending AA meetings for a while, determined to overcome her alcoholism and save her relationship with her boyfriend, Evan."
"Did she talk about any issues they might have been having?" Morgan asked, her mind already spinning with possibilities.
"Nothing specific," Belinda replied. "Just the usual struggles that come with loving someone who doesn't understand addiction. But she was committed to making it work. And Evan was committed to helping her."
Morgan took a deep breath, trying to keep her emotions in check. Stacy had been fighting for her future, a chance to break free from the chains of her past. And now, because of some unknown monster, that future had been stolen from her.
The overhead lights cast a warm glow on the worn wooden pews, casting long shadows that seemed to reach out towards Morgan. She glanced back at Belinda, whose expression was downcast.
"Belinda," Morgan began, her voice firm yet gentle, "was there anything different about Stacy recently? Anything out of the ordinary?"
Belinda hesitated, her brow furrowing as she searched her memory. "Well, there was one thing," she finally admitted. "A few days ago, I saw her leave with a man I didn't recognize. He was new to our meetings, and I never got his name."
Morgan felt a chill run down her spine, her instincts screaming that this detail was important. "Can you describe him?"
"Sure," Belinda replied, wringing her hands nervously. "He was in his forties, I'd say. Short black hair, glasses... nothing really distinctive about his appearance. Just an average-looking guy. I suppose some might consider him good-looking."
"Did you see them together after that?" Morgan asked, her mind racing with the possibilities.
"No," Belinda shook her head sadly. "That was the last time I saw Stacy. And he never came back for another meeting either."
Morgan's thoughts raced, analyzing every word and trying to fit the pieces together. Could this mysterious stranger be connected to Stacy's death? Or was it just a coincidence?
"Thank you, Belinda," Morgan said, her tone appreciative but tense. "You've been incredibly helpful."
"Anything I can do to help find justice for Stacy." Belinda's voice trembled with a mix of hope and fear.
"Please call me right away if that man shows up again," Morgan urged Belinda, handing her a business card with her direct line. "I appreciate your help."
"Of course, Agent Cross," Belinda replied, clasping the card between her fingers as if it were some lifeline to justice. "I want Stacy's killer found as much as you do."
Morgan nodded, sensing the woman's determination, despite the fear that lurked beneath her eyes. With that, Morgan turned to leave the church. She had a lot more work to do before the day was over. Somewhere out there, Stacy's killer was lurking--maybe even looking for his next target.
First, she had to understand what exactly had killed Stacy, starting with the coroner’s reports.
CHAPTER SIX
The sterile fluorescent lights of the FBI office flickered overhead as Morgan sat at her desk, poring over the coroner's report that had just arrived. It was later in the day now, and the sun was dipping deeper into the horizon.
As she flipped through the crisp pages of the file, autopsy photos stared back at her, forcing her to confront the brutal reality of Stacy's death. The images were gruesome – the young woman's body bloated and discolored from her time in the water, hands bound behind her back in a cruel show of control.
"God, Stacy," Morgan whispered under her breath, her stomach churning at the sight. She forced herself to focus on the coroner's notes instead, searching for any clues that might lead her to the killer.
"Subject was found submerged in water, with hands tied behind back..." she read aloud, her voice barely audible. "Cause of death confirmed as drowning. No signs of intoxication or other substances present in the system."
